


Whispered in the Night

by luinel (geekns)



Category: Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: Angst, F/M, Post-Episode: s04e17-e18 The End of Time, The Doctor is Bad at Wedding Nights, Wedding Night
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-03-01
Updated: 2010-03-01
Packaged: 2018-12-26 05:49:19
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 290
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12052614
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/geekns/pseuds/luinel
Summary: First off, let me apologize, as it is Doctor/Donna, but it's not exactly in the way you might expect.  You're probably going to hate me for this, as it's depressing and cruel.    Spoilers for End of Time.  Sexin's and slappin's ensue:  my fics aren't usually this violent.





	Whispered in the Night

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: Not mine, just trying to make sense of the mess RTD left behind.

It was not his first wedding night, but it may very well be his last.  Ever since Chiswick, he felt hollow; ever since Mars, he felt reckless.  He was running, what else?  But this was not his usual method of running.  Had you asked him a year ago, he would have scoffed, a century ago, been insulted.  But now he is ripping fabric away.  Now he is driving into her, and she is meeting him, thrust for thrust.  There is nothing here but need and desire, raw and unfettered.  He entwines his fingers in ginger hair, desperate for connection... any connection to drive away this overwhelming sensation of being incomplete.  His lips find hers, and he kisses her desperately.  Her nails scrape at the flesh on his back, he hisses with the pain of it.  Every nerve in his body is on fire and tingling.  She screams his name, and he moves faster, spurned on, intent on having this raw desire sated, wishing, calling...  
  
"Donna!"  He collapses onto his wife, spent.  They pant, still one, wrapped up in each other, and then he stills, realization paralyzing him.  
  
"What did you just say?" demands Elizabeth I, sovereign of England.  
  
"What?" he squeaks as she yanks his head up by the hair, fire flashing in her eyes, evident even in the dark.  
  
"What did you call me?!?" she whispers with deadly venom.  
  
"Woman, I said woman," he rambles quickly in Italian.  She raises an eyebrow, clearly unamused.  With her free hand, she slaps him, hard, across the face.  He can see stars for a moment, and pulls away from her instinctively, stumbling backwards off the bed.  She comes with him, kneeing him in the groin, and he collapses.  He whimpers.  
  
"Get out."


End file.
